


Just Another Mark

by ElizabethWinters



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethWinters/pseuds/ElizabethWinters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick Clegg is a con artist, his mo, find a rich lonely guy and use his good looks and charm to manipulate them into bed and out of their money. David Cameron was meant to be just another mark, but Nick's falling for this shy but charming man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Mark

‘Gosh, I'm sorry!’ exclaimed Nick, carefully noting the reaction of the man he had just bumped into and calculating his next move. He stooped to the pavement and fumbled with deliberate rapidness at the contents of the man's carrier bag, which had spilled out when the bag hit the floor.

‘It's quite all right,’ said the man quietly as he knelt down and started to gather up his shopping.

Nick looked at him apologetically, staring sincerely with eyes large and expression – he hoped – suitably repentant. After years of doing this he knew the effects of that look, so when the man's hand faltered for a second, Nick smiled shyly and bit his lip, pretending he did not notice when his fingers collided with those of the other man.

‘I'm so dreadfully sorry,’ he apologised again. ‘You must let me pay to replace anything that's ruined.’

‘There's no need.’

That was the reaction Nick expected, but he gave no sign of it, continuing to play the part of a clumsy pedestrian. He had been watching the man for a few days, learning his routine and waiting for an opportunity to orchestrate a meeting. Cameron was the ideal mark; handsome, single, shy and, most importantly, wealthy. The lonely ones were always the easiest to fool, and after the difficulty of his last job Nick was looking forward to playing this one in a relatively straight forward way. A simple collision on the pavement, during which he would _accidentally_ pick up something that was not his; so far everything was going according to plan.

‘I insist,’ said Nick, once again offering his best smile, the one that always won whatever heart he had set his sights on. ‘I feel awful.’

‘Really, it's fine,’ Cameron assured him, smiling kindly.

They stood up, facing each other on the crowded pavement, and Nick fussed deliberately at Cameron's coat, pretending to inspect it for damage and straighten out the creases.

‘Since I've no doubt ruined your shopping, I may as well introduce myself,’ Nick smiled, letting his hand linger on Cameron's arm as he spoke. ‘I'm Nick.’

‘David,’ Cameron responded, and Nick noted with pleasure that there was no last name mentioned; for someone as formal as Cameron it was a significant thing to get to first name basis this early on. He quickly assessed Cameron's body language, taking note of several things at once: the open smile on Cameron's face, that Cameron had not yet attempted to move his arm out of Nick's hold, the blush set on Cameron's cheekbones and ever so slightly dilated pupils, and the way Cameron let his gaze flick around Nick's body before it rested on Nick's face – evidently he had passed inspection.

‘It's nice to meet you, David,’ Nick said warmly, making his voice a little lower than normal, a touch too intimate for the situation.

‘Likewise.’

Since Nick had learned years ago things always went better when the first meeting left his mark with a small sense of disappointment that it did not last longer, he fixed a look of shy regret to his face and prepared to leave, taking hold of the empty briefcase he carried.

‘I should get going.’ He held out his hand for Cameron to shake. ‘I'm terribly sorry again for bumping into you.’

Cameron answered with similar words, and Nick stepped away and started along the pavement, carefully avoiding looking back until he was some distance away, where he turned as if to cross the road. When he saw Cameron was standing still and watching him leave, Nick smiled and whispered to himself.

‘Gotcha.’

 

Entering his flat at around quarter to four, Nick tossed the briefcase into the back of the hall cupboard and slipped out of his coat, draping it over the back of the armchair as he switched on the radio and went to the kitchen. He made himself a cup of tea and opened the fridge; nearly empty, he should have gone shopping before coming home.

Closing the fridge, he set down his mug and stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out two wallets. He dropped his own next to his tea and turned his attention to the one he had stolen from Cameron, carefully examining it without looking inside, and then walked to his bedroom and opened the top drawer of a battered cabinet.

One of the perks of his chosen lifestyle was the numerous presents he had received over the years; jewellery, clothes, aftershave, even a car once. Nick kept a lot of these, using them like props; accessories for whatever character he was playing at the time. He flicked through an assortment of different wallets until he found one that looked enough like Cameron's that he could easily say he had mistakenly picked Cameron's up thinking it was his own, then he sat down on the edge of his bed and began searching through Cameron's wallet.

The first thing he noticed was there were no pictures, no indicators of romantic involvement, either past or present.

 _Good sign_ , thought Nick as he examined the rest of the contents.

Cameron's wallet contained an assortment of credit cards, a few dozen business cards stuffed untidily in one of the sections, some cash – Nick did not count it or take any – a couple of taxi cards and receipts from dinners, driver's licence, a dry cleaning ticket, and a membership card for the Conservative party.

The last one made Nick smile; political was good, it made it less likely that Cameron would say anything when he worked out he had been conned. Nick opened a smaller drawer next to the one that contained the wallets and took out a stack of cards and bits of paper, shuffling through them until he found his own Conservative membership card, fake of course, and setting it on top of the empty wallet along with a few other things from the pile in his hands. Then he dumped the rest back in the drawer and grabbed the telephone receiver from the cradle next to the bed.

After dialling Cameron's number as written on his business card, Nick balanced the receiver between his head and his shoulder, lying back as he waited for an answer. A few seconds later Cameron's voice said hello, sounding a bit panicked.

‘Hello, is that David Cameron?’ asked Nick, though he knew it was.

‘Yes,’ answered Cameron.

‘I don't know if you remember me but we bumped into each other earlier, on Fleet Street,’ Nick said.

‘Oh yes, hello.’

Nick grinned; he had been remembered, that was also a good sign.

‘I seem to have picked up your wallet by accident,’ he told Cameron quickly in his best apologetic tone. ‘Thought I'd better call you to give it back. I hope you don't mind I looked in it to find your number?’

‘No, not at all!’ Cameron sounded relieved now, and had obviously discovered his wallet was missing, though not where he had lost it.

‘Great,’ Nick said cheerfully. ‘I'm going to be busy for the next couple of hours, but I could meet you somewhere later.’

‘That would be wonderful,’ replied Cameron. ‘I've been so worried about where it could have gone.’

‘I'm so sorry.’ Nick switched back to an apologetic tone. ‘It looks so much like mine that in the confusion I didn't notice.’

‘It's okay. No harm done.’

After making arrangements to meet Cameron at a small coffee shop Nick knew was near to Cameron's office, they hung up. Nick chuckled as he walked across the room to his wardrobe and began to pick out what clothes to wear. This was turning out to be easier than he had ever expected.

 

Between five and six every weekday Nick went to the gym on the end of his road, working out on the rowing machine while listening to music. He liked to keep in shape, and it did not hurt in his line of work; it also gave him an excuse for wearing different clothes, although most of his marks did not notice he had changed.

When he was finished he went back home and took a shower, brushing his teeth and using an electric razor to shave, then he plodded to his bedroom and put on the clothes he had chosen earlier. He had matched the grey suit with a white shirt and deep blue tie, glossy black shoes, and a watch that was smart but not flashy.

As he stood in front of the mirror, Nick ruffled his still damp hair a bit – it was a style he had been complimented on more times than he could count; boyishly charming, a little less than pristine. All part of the appeal.

The journey to the coffee shop took him ten minutes and Cameron was already there when he arrived, sitting nervously in a corner with a pot of tea in front of him. Nick eyed him up and down as he stood just inside the door; Cameron was better looking than most of Nick's previous marks, his dark hair had an untidy tuft that flopped down over his forehead, but apart from that the man was well-groomed. Nick felt a twinge of attraction, and smiled.

Though he did not mind so much about looks – money was the ultimate goal, and frequently the men who had it were not all that – it always made it more interesting when he actually liked the way a mark looked, and it made it a damn sight easier to bed them, even if that was sometimes unnecessary. Nick found himself quite looking forward to the prospect, and could not keep the smile from playing on his lips as he walked over to where Cameron sat.

‘David?’ Nick said loudly as he approached.

Cameron turned to face him, the look on his face transforming from worry to relief.

‘Hello,’ he greeted Nick, standing up and holding out his hand.

‘I'm not late, am I?’ asked Nick as he gripped Cameron's hand and shook it, holding on for a little too long and making sure his fingers brushed along Cameron's palm as he pulled his hand away.

‘No,’ replied Cameron, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, obviously affected by the touch. ‘I've only just arrived.’

From years of paying close attention to other people in order to mould himself around their mood and personality, Nick could tell Cameron was not being truthful. The tea on the table looked cold and the milk jug was empty, indicating Cameron had been there long enough for at least two cups of tea, but Nick did not point out the obvious lie, instead reaching into his inside pocket and pulling out Cameron's wallet.

‘I think this belongs to you,’ grinned Nick, handing the wallet over.

‘Oh, thank you,’ Cameron said with relief. He took the wallet and immediately opened it, fumbling some cash out and holding it in Nick's direction. ‘Please, take this for your trouble.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Nick shook his head and made a gesture of refusal. ‘Really, it was no trouble.’

Cameron stalled, his hand in front of him. Nick could hear the wheels inside Cameron's head turning; should he offer again or put the money away?

‘Then let me buy you a coffee?’ Cameron said eventually, putting the notes back in his wallet and slipping the wallet into his pocket. ‘It's the least I can do, considering.’

‘I really should be-’

‘Please?’ Cameron cut in, his hand moving to Nick's arm and grasping lightly while the look on his face went from sincere to pleading.

‘Okay then,’ smiled Nick, sitting down at the table. ‘But I can't stay long.’

As Cameron smiled brightly and went to the counter, Nick stared out of the window and tried not to look too smug. Perfect, absolutely perfect. He could not have planned it better.

 

‘What do you need?’ asked Alexander on answering the phone.

‘Do I have to need something to call?’ countered Nick with a grin.

‘Cut the crap, Nick. I'm busy,’ came Alexander's reply.

‘Office in London, website, the usual,’ Nick told him.

Alexander was probably the closest thing to a friend Nick had, though the relationship was strained at best and they had not seen each other since Nick was in Scotland the year before. The last time they had spoken was when Nick had hurriedly called while packing his clothes after he realised he was not going to pull off the con he had spent four months planning.

‘Name?’ asked Alexander.

‘Whitfield.’

‘History?’

‘Six months for the business; longer for the name. Details in the usual place.’

‘Two days, usual price. Check the London box,’ said Alexander, hanging up straight after.

Nick powered up his laptop and checked his bank account; money was getting tight. He had shelled out quite a bit for the last job and lost all of it when he left. That was part of the reason why he had chosen an easy target this time.

The last job had been a risk from the beginning, branching out into new territory was always risky, and the failure had hit him hard. He usually got whatever he went for.

‘Chalk it up to experience,’ he had told himself as he got in the cab that took him to Glasgow station. Stick to what you are good at – and what Nick was good at was taking advantage of lonely singletons. He was not really comfortable with more complex cons, and he had always felt the lonely singletons got something for their money – him – even if he did not stick around; he treated them well, aside from taking their money.

It was not selling sex, though he could probably have done that quite easily with his looks, more selling a relationship. For however many months he was there he would be the perfect partner, would be whatever they wanted him to be; he would be interested in what they were and have a life that complimented theirs perfectly, and how many people really found that nowadays?

On some level Nick had always suspected they knew what he was and did not care; he was more discreet than hiring an escort, even if the price was a little higher.

Cameron, however, did not come across like that at all. Nick had been surprised, for the first time in quite a while, when Cameron had called him to ask for a date after they had spent an hour talking in the coffee shop. That was usually Nick's move and it usually took a few more meetings.

More surprising was that Cameron did not seem to want him as a simple commodity, someone to take to events and functions to avoid being the only single person there. Cameron seemed to genuinely like him, and all of the time they spent together had been just the two of them; coffee or drinks after Cameron finished work. It had made Nick feel a little uneasy when he realised Cameron was actually attempting to court him, but if that was how he had to play it then it was fine by him, even if it was unusual.

Tonight Nick was going to Cameron's flat to meet him for dinner. Nick was looking forward to eating some decent food rather than the microwave meals he had been having lately, and being taken to a restaurant was a sure sign Cameron's interest in him was romantic, though Nick knew it was by the way Cameron acted around him and certain physical responses, most of them nervous.

Nick found Cameron's shyness a little endearing and liked to play up to it, frequently touching Cameron's hand – enjoying it when Cameron blushed and stuttered – and making sure he gave all the signals of interest. In truth he _was_ interested, and had caught himself imagining what it would be like to kiss Cameron more than once, so most of his own responses were genuine, if a little exaggerated.

 

‘Come in,’ smiled Cameron as he opened the door to his flat. ‘Let me take your coat.’

‘Thank you,’ Nick said politely, turning slightly as Cameron helped him out of his coat. He looked around Cameron's flat as Cameron hung the coat on a peg by the door. It was large and had an open-plan layout; the walls were white and the modern furniture neatly arranged.

‘Would you like a drink?’ asked Cameron when he turned back to Nick. ‘I have some wine in the fridge.’

‘That would be lovely.’

Cameron smiled at him, his eyes bright with obvious happiness.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he said, gesturing to the sofa. ‘Dinner won't be long.’

‘I thought we were going out for dinner,’ Nick commented casually as he walked further into Cameron's flat, skirting around the edge of the sofa and sitting on a tall stool by the kitchen counter where he could show more interest in what Cameron was doing. It did not matter to him either way where they ate, but in all the years he had been doing this Nick had never had a mark cook for him.

‘Oh, sorry,’ replied Cameron, taking two wine glasses – large ones, Nick noticed; he would be here a while – from the cupboard and a bottle of wine from the fridge. ‘We can if you like, but I seldom get the chance to cook for anyone.’

‘This is fine,’ Nick assured him as he took the glass of wine Cameron held out in his direction. Cameron smiled again, his gaze travelling Nick's face; it lingered on Nick's hair and then rested on his mouth. Nick paid careful attention to the reaction as he licked his lips and consciously mirrored Cameron's eye movements, deliberately conveying the message he would like it very much if they kissed.

‘I h-hope you l-like roast beef,’ Cameron stammered, looking away. He took a long mouthful of his wine, followed quickly by another, then put his glass on the counter and picked up a pair of oven gloves before moving to the oven to check on the roast.

Nick got up and walked to the other side of the kitchen, standing near to Cameron and speaking softly over his shoulder.

‘Can I help with anything?’

‘N-no,’ said Cameron, closing the oven and turning around. He fiddled with the corner tag of the gloves in his hand as Nick took a step closer.

‘Are you sure?’ Nick asked in a husky voice. ‘I'm not much of a cook but there must be something I can do.’

‘You, uh-’ Cameron gulped and closed his eyes for a second, reaching out to put the oven gloves next to the hob. ‘If you want to help setting the table?’

The tone of Cameron's voice was edging on desperate, and Nick backed away, not wanting to push; if they kissed – and Nick was certain they would before the end of the night – he wanted Cameron to be completely in control of it. He did not much like the idea of kissing Cameron when he would not be sure Cameron actually wanted him to.

‘Plates?’ he asked, reaching out to touch Cameron's hand.

‘Lower cupboard on the left,’ replied Cameron in a much steadier voice. He looked down with a smile and grasped Nick's fingers. ‘Cutlery is in the drawer above.’

‘I'll let you finish cooking then.’

Nick made to go to the cupboard, but stopped when Cameron did not let go of his hand, turning back with a questioning look on his face. Cameron was looking at their joined hands as if sizing the fit, his other hand touching his mouth as he looked up at Nick.

‘Can I kiss you?’ asked Cameron, as though the idea had only just occurred to him.

‘Yes,’ answered Nick, not sure of what else to say. It was a little strange to him that someone would _ask_ to kiss him, would actually seek permission instead of trying their luck and seeing where it got them. Cameron had taken a step forward, so Nick turned fully to face him, looking at him in anticipation and half expecting Cameron to peck him on the cheek like in an old fashioned film.

He would have been less surprised by that than he was when Cameron brought a hand to his face and stroked it gently.

‘You're lovely,’ Cameron whispered to him, the blue of his eyes large and close and shining.

Nick had heard all sorts of compliments over the years, from fine to fuckable and everything in-between, in voices ranging from coarse to cultured, but something about the sincerity of Cameron's voice, the way he was touching Nick's face and looking at him so intently, made Nick's heart jump in his chest. He closed his eyes as Cameron kissed him and the moan that escaped his lips was not intentional.

Stepping backwards without looking, guided by Cameron's hand on his back, Nick felt himself collide with the cold metal of the fridge door, bumping lightly against its surface as Cameron continued to kiss him, gently pushing his tongue inside Nick's mouth. Nick noticed he had put his arms around Cameron's shoulders and was pulling him closer, reacting on instinct alone instead of with the usual calculation of what his next move would be.

‘David,’ he gasped against Cameron's mouth, partly in effort to regain some control over himself and partly because he suddenly wanted to use Cameron's first name, to think of him as David instead of Cameron; for the kiss to be something other than part of the act.

It had already gone beyond that, Nick realised as Cameron whispered his name. Nick's stomach lurched as though he was plummeting from the sky; this was more than seducing someone out of money.

Nick panicked, pulling away from the kiss and putting his head on Cameron's shoulder, breathing fast and erratically.

‘Sorry,’ Cameron said in his ear. ‘Sorry, I didn't mean to-’

‘It's fine,’ Nick told him quietly, struggling with himself to remember why he was here, what this was all about. David – _Cameron_ , Nick corrected himself fiercely – was a mark; do not fall for the mark was the first rule of the game. What the fuck was he doing kissing the man like he was a lover?

Cameron tensed and started to move away, but Nick stopped him, wanting a few more moments to compose himself before Cameron saw his face and the confusion he was feeling written on it.

‘Bit fast,’ he mumbled, relieved when Cameron relaxed again.

‘Sorry,’ Cameron repeated. He sounded upset and Nick hugged him a little tighter.

‘Stop apologising.’ Nick kissed Cameron's neck softly and fell silent for a few seconds, trying to think of something else to say. ‘You're a good kisser,’ he said eventually, hoping he sounded the right mix of surprised and flattering.

‘You are too,’ Cameron whispered.

They both laughed then, holding on to each other, and Nick finally lifted his head so he could look Cameron in the eye.

‘I'll set the table?’

‘Okay.’

 

‘Where are we going?’ asked Nick, trotting along a few steps behind Cameron as he rushed along the pavement.

‘You'll see,’ Cameron replied mysteriously.

‘I'm cold,’ complained Nick. Cameron stopped and turned to face him.

‘You should have worn a better coat,’ he chuckled.

‘I thought we were staying in.’

‘We were, but I couldn't wait to show you,’ said Cameron, taking hold of Nick's hand and tugging him forward. ‘We're almost there. I promise you'll like it.’

Nick followed, holding on to Cameron's hand, looking down at the way it wrapped around his own and trying to rid himself of the guilty feeling it caused; a feeling that was present almost all the time since they had slept together.

Rules upon rules upon rules. Nick's life to this point was full of them. The cardinal rules of the game; never to be forgotten, never to be broken. Nick was breaking them, every single one, he was letting this job get to him, letting Cameron get to him, and breaking every rule in the unwritten book by allowing this to continue.

If only Cameron had been like the others.

The self-serving tosspots who had treated Nick as little more than an object; a pretty face to be displayed for their own egotistical needs. Nick had never felt bad about cheating them, most of them were corrupt to the core and whatever money he took from them they would get back through one devious scheme or another. Even the ones who were not corrupt had been distinctly unpleasant, unlike Cameron.

 _I should never have slept with him_ , Nick thought miserably, remembering for the hundredth time how gentle Cameron had been, how tender and caring and – fuck, how good it was; Cameron's hands and mouth and the sound of his voice sending Nick's stomach twisting in knots. He had wanted to stay the night, to break that rule, too, and wake up with Cameron curled in his arms instead of leaving under the pretence of an early meeting.

‘Here it is.’ Cameron's voice jolted Nick from his unhappy thoughts and he looked at the house they had stopped in front of on the small street somewhere in Notting Hill.

‘It's a house,’ said Nick, bewildered.

‘It's more than a house,’ answered Cameron, opening the gate and pulling Nick up the path. ‘It's _my_ house.’ Cameron took out a set of keys and opened the door.

‘You bought a house? What about the flat?’

‘I've been meaning to move out of it for a while,’ Cameron told him.

‘You never said,’ commented Nick, looking around the small, dark hallway as Cameron fumbled for the light switch.

‘It was a surprise,’ said Cameron as the overhead light flickered to life, illuminating the hallway and the staircase that led to the upper floor. He closed the front door and stood grinning widely. ‘What do you think?’

‘Very nice hallway.’

Cameron laughed, bristling with excitement as he swung open the nearest door and started to explain how he wanted to decorate before he moved in. Sofa there and perhaps a study in the back, the kitchen needs refitting, and-

His chatter fading, Cameron turned to Nick and looked at him.

‘I thought- that is I wanted to ask if maybe, if you wanted to- There's plenty of room for two.’

Realising what Cameron was asking, Nick's mouth dropped open.

 _Fuck_ , he thought.

This was not part of the plan. Not even in his wildest imaginings had Nick considered that Cameron would ask something like this, it was not even on a par with the time he had been offered a flat by a mark. He stood in stunned silence, Cameron looking at him with the most eager and fragile expression Nick had ever seen on another person's face.

‘David, I- I,’ stammered Nick, unconsciously backing away. He knew he looked terrified but was not able to school his expression into anything else.

‘It was only an idea,’ Cameron was saying hurriedly, trying to back out of his offer. ‘We're both busy so much, maybe later.’

‘David,’ said Nick as Cameron started to walk out of the room, resuming his talk of what improvements the empty house needed. Then, when Cameron did not stop. ‘Dave.’

Cameron turned then, his face no longer full of excitement and eagerness. Nick walked to him swiftly, guilt and hurt and confusion clattering around in his head, and pulled him close.

‘Dave,’ he whispered. ‘I'd love to, but with the business just getting on its feet...’

Good, Nick, salvage something from this disaster; get the money and run.

Nick would have run without the money if he had enough to set up another job, but every penny he had left was sunk into this and he could not afford to lose, not this time. This job would ruin him if he did not see it through; he had to see it through, no matter what the consequences. Even if it hurt to do it.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, and with the ceiling slowly lowering, Nick could not think of a way out, try as he might. He could not give up on the con without being ruined and he could not continue without hurting a man who he genuinely thought did not deserve it, nor could he have a proper relationship with Cameron, since he had lied about everything from the very moment they had met.

As long as he did not have to see Cameron's face when he realised what had happened; he could not bear the thought of it. Conning nice guys was not something Nick did, and he wondered why he had been given Cameron's name in the first place. What had Cameron done to deserve this?

‘It's not the best time, you're right,’ agreed Cameron.

‘Maybe in a few months,’ Nick said quickly, not wanting Cameron to think the idea was completely out of the question, even though it was – in a few months time Nick would be gone, sooner if he could manage it.

‘You think so?’ Cameron asked hopefully.

‘Yes.’ Nick put on his winning smile and looked at Cameron fondly. ‘Do you think you can wait that long?’

‘Do I have a choice?’ grinned Cameron.

Relief seeped through Nick at the remark; for now the crisis had been averted.

 

‘Alex, got time for a chat?’ asked Nick as soon as Alexander picked up the phone. He listened carefully to Alexander's response.

‘On the other line right now, call back.’

Bingo. Nick hung up and rummaged in the drawer of the desk he was sitting at, taking out an old mobile phone that had an unregistered sim card. He switched it on and dialled the only number in the phone book.

‘Nick,’ Alexander greeted him warmly within the first ring. ‘What's up?’

‘Something's off with my mark,’ replied Nick. ‘You heard anything about why this job was put my way?’

‘He pissed someone off, someone important.’

‘Doesn't seem the type.’ Nick shook his head.

‘Since when did type have anything to do with this?’ laughed Alexander.

‘Since I got sent to pull a con on someone who-’

‘You like this guy,’ interrupted Alexander. ‘I can hear it in your voice.’

‘Yes, I like him, but that's not the point.’ sighed Nick, switching the phone from one ear to the other. ‘He feels clean, Danny.’

‘Or you want him to be,’ said Alexander. ‘First rule, Nick. Remember what happened to Carmichael.’

Bloody Carmichael, the man held up to be both role model and warning, the supposed legend of the romantic con, legend that was until the unlucky bugger fell for a mark. No happy endings for him when he came clean; all it got him was a prison cell. Children had fairy tales, cons like Nick had the fable of Carmichael.

‘Carmichael is a myth,’ Nick snorted derisively.

‘Myth or not, the rule is there for a reason.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Nick said wearily. ‘Do me a favour, Danny. Dig a bit? Something about this doesn't feel right.’

‘I'll do what I can,’ promised Alexander. He was quiet for a moment, and Nick was thinking of saying goodbye when Alexander asked, ‘I'm guessing you don't want to use the London box for anything I might find?’

‘Not for this, no. You remember my IM?’

‘Sure.’

‘Two days enough? I'll log on from a public wi-fi,’ Nick told him.

‘Twelve o'clock okay? I've got to go, calls coming in.’

‘Twelve's fine. Thanks Danny.’

 

Valentine's Day. Usually Nick looked forward to Valentine's Day; a meal somewhere expensive, a present or two, a good day all round for someone like him. Plenty of opportunity to move the plan on while the mark was feeling romantic – or at least while they were obligated to act as though they were.

This Valentine's Day, however, Nick was dreading.

It had taken Cameron a few days to return to his shy, happy self after Nick had refused to move in with him. Nick had tried to make himself available to spend extra time with Cameron, needing to repair whatever damage had been done and make it seem he was as interested in a relationship as Cameron was. It was not easy; it was made harder by the fact that Alexander had not managed to find out who had marked Cameron, or why.

His instant message to Nick two days after they spoke on the phone had been one line: No news, will keep looking. Thursday, 4pm. GTG.

‘You can do this, Nick,’ he told himself as he stood outside of Cameron's building, taking deep breaths and calming his nerves. ‘Just keep your focus a bit longer.’

Pressing the button for Cameron's flat, Nick tried not to fidget while he waiting for Cameron to answer.

‘Hello.’

‘Dave, it's me,’ Nick said into the intercom.

‘Come on up,’ replied Cameron.

The door lock buzzed open and Nick went inside. Cameron was already at the door when he got there, shirt untucked and tie hanging loosely around his neck, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

‘I'm nearly ready.’ Cameron walked off in the direction of the bedroom, hands already working on his tie. ‘Won't be a sec.’

‘It's all right, I'm early,’ Nick called after him. He fumbled in his pocket and took out the gift he had bought for Cameron, the velvet covered box a little rough against his fingers as he opened it. Normally he would not have bought a mark jewellery, let alone a ring of any kind, but desperate times called for desperate measures, so he had used some of his dwindling cash to get Cameron a gold ring with a blue opal set in it – opal being the birthstone for October.

As he stared at it now, Nick thought it looked like an engagement ring, and fuck he hoped Cameron did not think it was one; he would have to play the situation carefully when he gave it to Cameron, another misunderstanding was the last thing Nick needed.

Stuffing the box hastily back into his pocket as Cameron came out of the bedroom and picked up his jacket, Nick fixed a suitably approving smile to his face and complimented Cameron on his choice of clothes. Cameron kissed him and opened the front door.

They went to dinner, surrounded by other couples in the dimly lit restaurant, and exchanged gifts before the dessert course. Cameron blinked with happy surprise when he opened the box and saw the ring, apologising that his own gift was not as nice as he slid it across the table for Nick to take.

It was nice enough, Nick thought, a bit of cold calculation creeping into his head. The cufflinks Cameron had given him were gold, inset with lapis lazuli stone; he could probably get something for them when this job was done.

After they had finished their meal – Cameron paid, insisted on paying, much to Nick's relief – they walked back to Cameron's flat through the quiet London streets and avenues, talking about nothing in particular.

Nick felt a little light-headed from the wine he had drunk at dinner and was glad of the cold February weather, it helped to clear his head, keep him on his toes and remember to say certain things about how work was going – not well – and how he hoped things picked up soon. Cameron was full of consolation and helpful suggestions. Did Nick want the name of a consultant Cameron had once used? Did he need Cameron to help? Did he need money?

Refusing all three – never accept the money the first time it was offered – Nick told Cameron he was sure everything would work out fine.

‘Come in for coffee?’ asked Cameron when they reached his flat.

Of course, with it being Valentine's Day, Nick could hardly say no, and as they stood in the lift with hands brushing, Nick felt a flutter of excitement at the thought of what he knew was about to happen.

Cameron kissed him as soon as the door was closed, as Nick was sliding out of his jacket.

‘Thank you for the ring,’ Cameron whispered. ‘It's lovely.’

Lovely was a word Cameron used a lot; where others would say beautiful, gorgeous, or wonderful, Cameron said lovely. The word seemed to fit his personality somehow, it had a certain shy quality to it Nick found charming.

‘I wanted to you to have it,’ Nick told him, truthfully enough since he did not mention why.

‘I should have got you something better,’ said Cameron. He took Nick's jacket and hung it on the peg, followed by his own, then he turned back and drew Nick into his arms.

‘They're beautiful, David,’ Nick smiled, meaning the cufflinks.

‘I'm terrible at buying presents.’

Something about Cameron's insecurity over his gift softened Nick's mood, which had bordered on distant through the entire evening. He reached up to touch Cameron's face, gazing into Cameron's eyes.

‘I like them,’ Nick said, smiling wider.

‘Really?’ Cameron asked softly.

‘Yes,’ Nick assured him, leaning in to kiss Cameron's lips lightly. ‘I really do.’

Cameron sighed, winding his fingers into Nick's hair, kissing Nick a little deeper and pushing him back against the wall, the smooth material of their coats cool against the back of Nick's neck. He ran his other hand down Nick's side and pressed his whole body forward against Nick.

With a moan, Nick opened his mouth, forgetting for the moment he was not supposed to let his feelings play a part in what he was doing and simply wanting to kiss Cameron, taste his mouth and listen to his breath growing short. He grabbed hold of Cameron and arched into him, moving his feet so his and Cameron's ankles were tangled together.

‘Nick,’ groaned Cameron.

‘God, I want you, Dave,’ Nick whispered. He was glad he did not say something else because he had not meant to speak at all. Cameron's body was pressing him back into the wall again while his hands slid between them and started to undo Nick's belt and trousers.

Nick let his head fall back against the coats and closed his eyes as Cameron kissed his neck, biting down on his lip to keep himself from unintentionally saying anything else; he bit too hard when Cameron's hand moved inside his underwear, yelping with pain and pleasure as Cameron's hand wrapped around his cock, quickly stroking until he was hard.

Then Cameron was gone. Nick opened his eyes, confused, and reached out to pull Cameron back to him. He had forgotten himself so much that all he had been doing was stand there, arms hanging by his sides. Cameron pushed Nick's hands away, smiling in a wicked way that made Nick's stomach bottom out; fear flickered for a second, jolting its way nervously through him, until Cameron thudded to his knees in front of where Nick was standing.

‘David, fuck, what are you-’

The question faded along with the world as Cameron's mouth closed around his cock, hot and tight. Nick grabbed at the coat hooks above his head, clutching at them desperately as his legs turned to columns of water, afraid they would break loose from the wall and send him tumbling to the floor.

Nick would never have guessed someone as shy as Cameron was would – Christ, he was good at it, his tongue curled and flicked, lips sucked, mouth worked, until Nick was babbling, panting and gripping the coat hooks so tight his fingers were white with pressure. Cameron had worked Nick's trousers down to his knees, was holding both his bare hips, the hair of his fringe tickling Nick's stomach.

Whatever Nick had expected of the night, and he had expected sex of some kind, this was nowhere close and all too much for him to even try to keep his head together. He said David's name, cried it over and over until he was hoarse and even then kept going, the word coming out as a dry croak that burned from low in his throat, until without warning Cameron thrust a finger inside him.

Nick came with a final cry, shaking hard. Cameron caught him as he started to slide down the wall, propping Nick up with his body and kissing him slowly.

‘Good?’ Cameron asked in a whisper.

‘Yes, god yes.’

Cameron pulled at his tie, loosening it enough to slip it over his head and toss it away, then undid the top buttons of his shirt. For someone who had just given the best head Nick could ever remember getting, Cameron looked remarkably unflustered, his hair neat except for the usual tuft that always strayed out of place, cheeks only slightly red. Nick, in contrast, was a wreck. His shirt crumpled, trousers and underwear hanging around his ankles, hair sticking up in all directions. He felt thoroughly debauched.

‘Off,’ Cameron ordered quietly, kicking at Nick's trousers with his feet. Nick stepped out of them quickly, wondering if Cameron intended to fuck him up against the wall – after what had just happened it would not have surprised him – but Cameron waited until Nick was finished and then dragged him in the direction of the bedroom. Obviously Cameron had not wanted him to fall over.

The bedroom was dark, the sheets of Cameron's bed soft against Nick's skin as he lay down. Cameron went to the en suite bathroom, the light casting shadows through the doorway as Nick listened to him opening and then closing one of the cabinets. Nick sat up and undid his tie, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing both on the floor. He pulled off his socks. For some reason he felt nervous.

They'd had sex before – good sex, quiet and shy first time sex – but Nick felt shaken by what had happened in the living room; he did not know what to expect now, since Cameron seemed to be not as shy in bed as he had first appeared.

When Cameron came back from the bathroom he had taken off his clothes, all but his shirt, which was hanging open.

‘Sorry, I was getting, uh-’ Cameron fiddled with the foil packet in his hand.

Nick wanted to laugh at Cameron's reluctance to say the word condom. Somehow it made him feel better, reminded him that Cameron was not quite confident enough to be comfortable with talk of protection. He knelt on the edge of the bed as Cameron stepped closer, leaning his naked body into Cameron's and bringing their lips together without a word.

There was no control in the kiss. Nick opened his mouth as soon as he felt Cameron's tongue on his lips, tilted his head to get more, and pulled Cameron down onto the bed. He had never wanted a mark the way he wanted Cameron; had never been so confused and excited by the thought of it. He squirmed impatiently as Cameron knelt above him, wanting Cameron to touch him, to feel his hands, his mouth, his skin, his cock; wanting it now and not caring if it hurt.

‘David, please.’

He hissed through his teeth as Cameron pushed into him, gripping the pillow beneath his head and lifting his hips away from the mattress. Cameron kissed him, moaning into his mouth.

‘David, _please_ ,’ Nick groaned again as Cameron stopped moving.

‘I don't want to hurt you,’ said Cameron in a worried voice.

‘You're not,’ Nick promised, letting go of the pillow and lifting his arms to pull Cameron closer. Although a lie, it was a good one, perhaps the only good one he had ever told Cameron – a lie to make him feel better, to save explanations for a better time. It did hurt a little, but Nick had always liked that and it never lasted long.

Cameron moved slowly. Nick kissed him, put both of his hands in Cameron's hair and kissed as though he had never done it before, devouring Cameron's mouth and moving his legs so-

‘Aaah- Dav-’

‘Okay?’ Cameron's hands immediately flew to Nick's face, soothing.

‘Yes,’ Nick gasped desperately. ‘Yes, David.’

This had nothing to do with money; this raw sensuality, this urgent, burning need – it was pure lust, passion unfettered and consuming, with no lies and no calculation. He moved with David; met every thrust, savoured every kiss, every whisper of his name; held David like a lover would, kissed him, caressed him, called his name; lost himself in every hot, heart wrenching second.

And realised he was falling for the mark, falling hard and fast and too far to stop himself.

 _Oh fuck, I'm in trouble_ , Nick thought as Cameron gave one last push and collapsed on top of him. He kissed Cameron's face, his chin and jaw and cheek and eyes, everywhere his mouth could reach, softly and slowly as Cameron breathed heavily and turned his head to kiss back.

‘You're lovely,’ Nick murmured against Cameron's lips, and felt Cameron smile, wide and happy, as they kissed again.

‘Stay tonight?’ Cameron asked quietly.

God, he really should say no.

‘Yes,’ Nick whispered, nodding.

 

Nick woke to the sound of Cameron's alarm clock buzzing loudly at the bedside. He groaned unhappily as Cameron reached over him to switch it off.

‘What time is it?’ he asked sleepily, yawning.

‘Half past five,’ answered Cameron, settling back down at Nick's side and kissing him lightly.

They were wrapped around each other, legs and arms tangled, every part of their bodies touching. Nick had woken up in a mark's bed before – four times, he counted – but had never woken up so completely close to any of them. His and Cameron's heads were on the same pillow, noses touching as they shared sleepy kisses, both making soft, contented noises.

‘I have to go to work,’ said Cameron.

‘Yes, I have work today, too,’ agreed Nick. He intended to spend the day trying to find out who had marked Cameron; he needed to know who it was, why they had done it. ‘I'll come back tonight?’

‘I have a meeting in Luton,’ Cameron told him regretfully. ‘I won't be back until late tomorrow.’

Nick kissed Cameron again, feeling unexpectedly sad at the thought of not seeing him for two days.

‘You could come to the house on Saturday,’ suggested Cameron. ‘Help me paint the living room.’ He hugged Nick a little closer. ‘We can order takeaway and drink beer. I can bring a blanket and do unspeakable things to you in front of the new fireplace.’

‘Something tells me we won't get much painting done,’ chuckled Nick.

‘There's no rush, they haven't even started on the kitchen yet.’ The intercom for Cameron's flat sounded. ‘Damn, George is here early.’

‘George?’

‘My business partner. We're driving to Luton together later,’ said Cameron, getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. He returned wearing a navy bathrobe and walked to the living room. The intercom buzzed again and Nick heard Cameron say hello as he pressed the answer button.

‘Bloody hell, Dave, what took you so long?’ came a high pitched, nasal voice through the speaker.

‘Cheerful as always, George,’ commented Cameron. He buzzed George in and returned to the bedroom, leaning over the bed to kiss Nick, running his hand affectionately down Nick's side over the covers.

‘He sounds pleasant,’ commented Nick, sitting up when Cameron stood upright again.

‘He's not so bad when you get to know him.’ Cameron tied the belt of his robe and leaned down to kiss Nick again. ‘I'll bring you some coffee.’

Cameron left the room again, pulling the door closed behind him. Nick sat on the bed, duvet pooled around his waist, and tried to figure out what he was going to do.

Give up the con? Get out of the game completely?

This was the first time Nick had used the name he was currently using, and he had not actually done anything too bad to this point; he had not taken any of Cameron's money. Maybe he could scrape up enough to get a full history for Nick Whitfield, get a job, settle down at last. Have a life, a proper life, with Cameron; move in with him and have a relationship.

Built on a lie, a series of lies and deceit. What if Cameron found out one day?

George's voice sounded loudly through the bedroom door and Nick got up from the bed, picking up his shirt from the floor and sliding it round his shoulders. He buttoned it and grabbed his tie, then remembered the rest of his clothes were still by the front door. Shit.

Opening the door and poking his head round the frame, Nick watched as Cameron poured coffee and spoke to George.

‘David,’ Nick called out hesitantly. Cameron turned to face him, along with George, whose eyebrows rose toward the ceiling. Nick felt horribly self conscious. ‘My trousers.’

Cameron looked half amused and half embarrassed as he walked to where Nick's trousers were and picked them up. He smiled apologetically and kissed Nick on the cheek as he handed them over.

‘Thank you,’ whispered Nick.

‘Coffee's ready when you're dressed,’ Cameron told him quietly.

‘Who's that?’ Nick heard George ask as he closed the bedroom door again.

 

[YellowBird]: Any news?  
[Click'n'Fix]: Found out who put the word round on your guy. Rumour has it that it was Peter's call.  
[YellowBird]: Shit, are you sure?  
[Click'n'Fix]: Sure as I can be. Peter doesn't exactly advertise.

This was the absolute worst thing Nick could have heard. The last time Nick had got involved with a job Peter had put around it had cost him four months and most of his money. Nick rubbed his face, sighing into his hands.

If Peter was behind this then there was no telling if Cameron had done anything at all to deserve being conned. Peter could simply have it in for Cameron; it would not be the first time Peter had put out a job for a personal vendetta.

[YellowBird]: Any word on the mark?  
[Click'n'Fix]: Nothing yet. He could be clean.  
[YellowBird]: Jesus, what the hell am I going to do?  
[Click'n'Fix]: Keep your mouth shut and get the job done.  
[YellowBird]: Easy for you to say.

[Click'n'Fix]: Get out then. Peter would send someone else in.  
[YellowBird]: Peter's the reason my last job got fucked up. I was doing fine until he sent that idiot Burnham in at the last minute.  
[Click'n'Fix]: What did Burnham do?  
[YellowBird]: Fucked the wife and blabbed about the husband's bit on the side.  
[YellowBird]: I was the husband's bit on the side.

[Click'n'Fix]: I told you not to take that job. Married marks are too complicated.  
[YellowBird]: It would have been fine if Peter wasn't trying to play both sides of the fence.

Trying to con both husband and wife at the same time took careful planning, and a team of cons who could work together well. Nick did not exactly dislike Burnham, had no reason to since Burnham worked female marks, but he had always thought Burnham was a bit too eager, lacked the kind of self control needed for the romantic con.

Not that Nick had always been so good at keeping himself emotionally detached from his work – or was now, apparently, given the situation with Cameron. That aside, when Nick was first starting out his youthful exuberance had got him in trouble a few times. He had run from more than a few jobs back then – small time stuff, nothing like what he did now.

In all likelihood he would not have made it in the business at all if not for Ashdown, the kindly older con who had taken Nick under his wing and taught him the rules of the game, helped him to understand the reasons for keeping cool and focused. Ashdown had taught Nick how to read body language, facial expressions, how to mimic them successfully and play up his natural charm for best effect. Ashdown had put him in touch with Alexander and helped him fix up his first proper job; Ashdown had got him 'in'.

Nick could still remember when Ashdown had casually sat down on the barstool next to him and commented, ‘You stick out a mile, my boy. You'll never get anywhere like that.’

Of course Ashdown was retired now, had got out a few years ago on the back of a big score. The kind of big score Nick had never attempted. Nick had a few years left before he was in the territory of spinsters, and cons so mundane they were not worth the effort, so finding the job that would set him up for life was not a serious concern. Mostly he lived job to job, not staying anywhere long enough to get himself noticed; playing the shadows, Ashdown had called it.

[Click'n'Fix]: You know Peter.  
[Click'n'Fix]: What are you going to do?  
[YellowBird]: I don't know.  
[Click'n'Fix]: Want me to keep looking into your mark?  
[YellowBird]: Check his business records. Might have pulled a shady deal.  
[Click'n'Fix]: Will do. GTG mate. Be careful.  
_Click'n'Fix has quit the conversation [signed out]_

Nick turned off his laptop and stuffed it back in his bag, rusting the toilet roll holder and flushing the toilet in order to make it sound as though he had just used it.

The situation was worse than he had thought. He did not expect Alexander would be able to turn up anything on Cameron, shady deal or otherwise; Peter was notorious for marking people over nothing, things anyone else would have simply let go. Peter was also someone you did not want to fuck with, a few words in the right ears and he could ruin your prospects of ever getting another job.

Leaving would be risky, especially after the last job. Peter might take it personally if Nick ran from two of his jobs, especially as there was no real reason for him to run from this one, no reason Peter would care about, anyway.

Peter lived by the credo that there was a sucker born every minute and an enemy every second, and had no pity for anyone who he saw as either. Since he had put the Cameron job out without wanting a share of the money it was a safe bet he saw Cameron as the latter.

What if Cameron had done nothing to deserve it?

If Alexander found nothing – what then? Nick could not tell Cameron that Peter had marked him. That was an absolute no-no. It just was not done. Ever. If you blabbed to the mark about who had set them up for the fall, you were out. Worse than out, you were never to be spoken of, or spoken to, by anyone who was still in. For a con that was a harsh punishment.

Fuck, this was a mess.

How had this simple con turned into such a nightmare?

Nick hurried out of the coffee shop and back to his flat, dumping his bag just inside the door and going straight to the chair in the corner of the living room, slumping down with his head in his hands. He was stuck; well and truly fucked. There was no way he could get out of this without hurting Cameron or ruining himself, and he did not want to do either. It bothered Nick that his and Cameron's fortunes seemed to be so intricately linked together, it bothered him more that how Cameron fared was as important to him as how he did. Worrying about how he came out of this was normal, he worried on every job, but worrying about Cameron-

Dear sweet David, with his cooking and insecurity and absolutely wicked mouth – lovely, David was, Nick had meant that. How could anyone want to hurt him?

If only he could figure a way out of this mess, but he had dug himself too deep to see daylight, and he had the horrible feeling this was going to end badly no matter what he did.

Nick walked through the flat and grabbed a microwave meal from the freezer, shoving it into the microwave and jabbing the buttons to set the timer.

 _Maybe I should get out_ , thought Nick. He could up and vanish, cons did it all the time; go abroad somewhere with the last of his money. Nick walked to the bedroom and opened the drawer containing his many identities; Archer, Pilkington, Taylor, Thomas, Clark – all stacked neatly in a pile. He slid them aside and took out a manilla envelope, sitting down on the side of the bed and pulling out the documents for a name he had not used in over a decade.

Nicholas Clegg.

Could he be that man again? Live a normal life? Work a normal job? Could he leave behind the thrill of the game?

As much as Nick had toyed with the idea of settling down, of packing in the con game and setting up home with Cameron, he knew he would miss the adrenaline rush that came with pulling off a con. The ebb and flow of a cycle set in habit if not in stone; run the con, take the money, live however he wanted until the next mark came along. He had always known he would not be ordinary, no matter what he did, and returning to a life lived on the straight and narrow was not an appealing prospect, especially since he doubted Cameron would forgive him if he came clean.

Nick would not blame Cameron for that. The betrayal was immense. For the first time in however many years, Nick's conscience was getting to him. He had always dressed up what he did, told himself he was not really a bad person for taking advantage of the people he conned – they were bad guys, too, after all, in one way or another – he had never really cared about their feelings, blocked the thoughts of it out, pushed them away and locked them up where they would not trouble him.

He wished they did not trouble him now, that he did not care about Cameron, but neither of those things were true. He did care about Cameron – was falling for him pretty damn hard – and he wanted to tell Cameron everything, warn him of what was happening, even if it cost him.

 

After two nights of fitful sleep and another day of racking his brain to find a solution to the problems he was facing, Nick was all but frantic with worry. He had agreed to spend the day with Cameron, painting the living room of Cameron's new house, and was worried about how he was going to pretend he was not an emotional wreck.

‘Channel it,’ he told himself. ‘Use it to make it seem like you're worried about the business.’

Get the money and run! Run far and fast and do not look back.

And keep your damn mouth _shut_!

When Nick knocked on the door to Cameron's house, he took a deep breath, hearing footsteps approaching. The door swung open, but instead of Cameron, the person who stood on the other side was George.

‘Oh, it's you,’ said George, looking at Nick as though he was a bad smell.

‘Is David in?’ asked Nick.

‘Nick?’ came Cameron's voice from away in the living room, and Cameron emerged, wearing slightly scruffy clothing with spots of paint on. He came to the door, walking past George and placing a kiss on Nick's cheek. ‘Come in, come in. We've got started already.’

Following Cameron past George, and ignoring George's unfriendly expression, Nick walked into the living room where open pots of ivory paint and wet paintbrushes were sitting in the middle of the floor.

‘George has kindly offered his help,’ Cameron said brightly, handing Nick a paintbrush. ‘We'll be done in no time at all.’

‘Right.’ Nick smiled, putting the paintbrush down for a second while he rolled up his sleeves. He was disappointed at not being able to spend the day alone with Cameron, but thankful George's presence gave him a reason to be wary. George did not seem to like him very much, he had practically ignored Nick on Thursday morning when Nick had sat in the kitchen drinking coffee.

‘Where should I start?’ asked Nick.

‘If you want to do that wall-’ Cameron gestured to the left side of the room. ‘-I'll do this one, and George that, and then we can all fight over the last one.’

‘I hope you can paint,’ commented George as he climbed the ladder by the wall he was painting and started making careful strokes around the edge of the ceiling.

‘He's bound to be better at it than you are, George,’ Cameron said with a laugh. Nick smirked and turned his face away as George glared at Cameron, nostrils flaring and eyes slightly narrowed.

They chatted while they worked, each taking turns in making cups of tea and coffee. Cameron sat with his hand on Nick's leg whenever they stopped working, the gesture almost possessive, Nick thought. George glared often enough that Nick was beginning to suspect there was history between George and Cameron; maybe they had been lovers once, maybe that was why George did not like him...

It was around one o'clock when Cameron set his brush down, wiping his hands on an old rag and commenting, ‘I think I'll go off and get us all some lunch. Sandwiches from Greggs OK for everyone?’

‘Need a hand?’ Nick offered quickly, not relishing the idea of being alone with George while Cameron was out.

‘No, no. I can manage. It's only down the road.’

 _Damn_ , Nick thought as Cameron trotted off toward the front door.

As soon as Cameron was gone, George hopped down from the ladder and put his paintbrush down, walking over to Nick and standing right in his personal space with a menacing look on his face.

‘I know who you are,’ snarled George. Nick flinched backwards, panic clenching in his stomach.

‘What?’ he uttered, taking another step backwards.

‘I know your type,’ George told him quietly, the tip of his nose curled upward in anger. ‘And I'm telling you now you'd better back off.’

‘M-my type?’ stammered Nick.

‘Yes, your type. Smooth talkers who waltz around breaking hearts left, right, and centre.’ George stuck his hand on Nick's shoulder, squeezing roughly. ‘If you know what's good for you, you'll break it off now.’

‘I don't know what you mean,’ Nick lied, grabbing at George's hand and shoving George away from him. ‘Get your fucking hands off me.’

‘Don't come the innocent with me,’ growled George. ‘I've seen enough of your type, fluttering your pretty eyes at him until you get bored.’

George stepped forward again with his hand raised, and Nick backed up until he met with the wall, shaking as adrenaline coursed through him. Nick was sure George was about to hit him and made ready to get away, but the sound of Cameron's voice calling he was back came from the hallway as the front door opened. George immediately lowered his hand, stepping neatly across the room. He was back on the ladder by the time Cameron came into the living room, painting as though nothing had happened.

‘Got everyone cheese and pickle,’ Cameron chimed happily.

Nick stood for a moment, stuck to the floor by shock and uncertainty, and then stepped forward to take the sandwich Cameron held out to him, looking over Cameron's shoulder at George's hate-filled face.

What the fuck was that all about?

 

‘Will I order us something for dinner?’ asked Cameron as he turned on his side and propped himself up with his arm.

‘If you like,’ answered Nick.

They were lying on a rug in the newly painted living room, a pile of mismatched cushions under their heads and a large fluffy blanket draped over their lower halves. The gas fire beside them was lit, heating the side of Nick's bare body closest to it. It provided the only light in the room except for the dim glow of the street lights pushing its way through a small gap in the curtains Cameron had hastily hung.

George had left at five o'clock, to Nick's unending relief, and Cameron had crushed himself against Nick no sooner than the door had clicked closed, grabbing frantically at Nick's paint covered clothes and whispering he thought George would never leave. Quite soon after, Nick had found himself on the floor in front of the fireplace with Cameron kissing his spine and fucking him so slowly he had to squash his face into one of the cushions to stop his loud cries of pleasure echoing through the empty rooms of the house.

‘I think I saw a pizza menu on the floor in the hallway,’ Cameron commented. ‘Do you like pizza?’

‘Pizza would be fine.’

‘Are you all right? You've been very quiet today.’

What to tell him? What could Nick tell him? Cameron probably would not believe it if Nick confessed George had threatened him, and Nick knew he could not explain why he had been so shaken by it, why it bothered him so much that George seemed to have figured him out, at least partially. It did not make sense. If George knew who he was then why had he not told Cameron?

Nick was bothered by what George had said about seeing 'his type' before. Had Cameron been conned in the past? Was that why George was so protective of him?

‘Things on my mind,’ Nick said quietly. He could not quite bring himself to tell Cameron that he was worried about work; did not want to continue with the con when everything was so uncertain.

‘Anything I can help with?’ asked David.

‘No, it's all right.’

‘I know your business isn't going well,’ David said softly. ‘If you need money then-’

‘No!’ Nick snapped. God, what was he doing?

He should have taken the money. It was the perfect opportunity to grudgingly accept help for his failing business, fake as it was, and he had blown it. Nick understood then, knew he could not take the money and run, would not do it even if Alexander found a dodgy deal in Cameron's past.

‘I'm falling in love with you,’ Nick whispered, closing his eyes and putting a hand over his face, the truth spilling from him, utterly beyond his control. Cameron pulled Nick's hand away from his face, gazing at him intently.

‘Why does that make you look so sad?’

 _Because I have to leave_ , thought Nick, but said, ‘I'm not sad, it's just-’

‘It doesn't make you-’ Cameron smiled down at him. ‘I know you value your independence.’

‘I wasn't expecting any of this.’

‘No one ever does,’ laughed Cameron. He kissed Nick, curling his hand around Nick's cheek, and then pulled away. ‘I should feed you, you look like you need it.’

‘I hope you don't mean that literally,’ smiled Nick, feeling a little calmer. He pushed away the unwelcome thoughts of tomorrow, of leaving and not telling David why. If only he could think of a way that he could stay.

‘Not with pizza. Though I have some ideas.’

‘Ideas?’ Nick raised his eyebrows.

‘I thought maybe we could, uh, next time maybe... switch places?’

‘Oh- _Oh!_ That would-’ Nick wanted that, the very thought of watching Cameron come apart beneath him sent his pulse skittering madly. ‘That would definitely be- acceptable,’ said Nick, his throat feeling tight at the thought it would never happen.

‘Acceptable?’ chuckled Cameron. ‘Odd way to describe it.’

‘The mental image rather broke me,’ Nick confessed. They smiled at each other in silence, Nick biting his lip. ‘Are we staying here tonight?’ he asked.

‘I thought you didn't want to,’ David answered.

‘I changed my mind,’ Nick whispered sincerely. ‘Just about staying the night, not about-’

Waving his hand in place of words, Nick pulled Cameron to him, wrapping his arms around Cameron's shoulders and holding tight.

‘It's a start,’ Cameron said in Nick's ear.

Nick gulped against the lump that had risen in his throat. It was not a start, not even close to one.

 

On Sunday after he said goodbye to Cameron, Nick went straight back to his flat and started packing, folding his clothes and putting them neatly into suitcases. He did not have much in the way of personal possessions; a life spent constantly moving around meant he did not have furniture to take. Everything he owned fit into two suitcases.

The advantage was that it never took him long to get out of town when the job was done. The disadvantage now was there was not enough to stop his attention wandering from the task.

Cameron had asked him over in the afternoon. They were supposed to have dinner together. Nick would not be going. He had turned on his computer as soon as he got home and booked a train ticket to Scotland under one of his other identities, tickets to be collected from the fast ticket machine in the station concourse. Alexander would let him stay until he decided what to do, where to go, what to make of his life now.

He was out. Could not go back, not now; could not imagine running cons and pretending none of this had happened.

When he started packing the contents of his drawers, Nick found the cufflinks Cameron had given him on Valentine's Day, stared at them and wondered if he should keep them or sell them. Out of all the things he had been given through the years, the cufflinks were the first he had ever regarded as special. There was emotion attached to them, real emotion with no fakery involved. Would it be so bad to keep them?

Maybe he should give them back to Cameron. He would have to post them, before he left London. Seeing Cameron now might break his nerve, he might crack and tell Cameron why he was leaving, how they had met in the first place.

Nick put the cufflinks in his suitcase with the few other pairs he owned, and then moved to the drawer with all the cards and documents. He replaced all the cards in his wallet made up for Whitfield with those of Archer and threw the rest messily on top of his clothes. His phone beeped and he ignored it, closing both suitcases and putting them by the front door while he checked around the flat to make sure he had not forgotten anything and packed his laptop into the carry case.

Then he looked at his phone. Message from David, the screen said.

 _15:06 Nick, dinner is ready. Are you running late?_ then five minutes later, _Nick?_

Nick stared at the messages for several minutes, hands shaking as he held the phone. Then he turned it off, slipped the sim card out and snapped it in half. He would drop the phone and the card in separate bins on his way to the train station. The phone was a throwaway, bought for next to nothing two days before he had started the con, there was no way he could be tracked with it. Even if Cameron looked he would not find out where Nick had gone.

God this hurt.

This was not fair. A choice between himself and Cameron, a choice that ended with both of them hurt anyway. At least he would not be remembered as a conman, though that was a small comfort to him.

Picturing Cameron, sat confused in his flat as he waited for someone who would never arrive, Nick wiped his eyes and walked to the door, setting the suitcases outside one and a time and swinging his laptop case over his shoulder. A taxi to the station; this time tomorrow he would be in Scotland and Cameron would know he had left.

Nick closed the door.

He slept through most of his journey and took a taxi to Alexander's house, knocking on the door.

When it opened, Alexander took one look at Nick's frowning, upset face and shook his head, smiling softly.

‘You fell for the mark, didn't you,’ said Danny.

 

Nick woke six days later to the sound of raised voices and stuck his head out from under the duvet, listening with growing curiosity.

‘I told you, he's not here,’ Danny was saying.

‘I know he is here, get out of the way. I want to speak to him.’

‘Don't you dare- Ow!’

The sound of a scuffle followed Danny's exclamation of pain, and Nick heard a loud thump as Danny yelped again. Then the door to the room Nick was in flew open, and Cameron stepped over the threshold carry a duffel bag.

‘Oi,’ shouted Danny, attempting to drag Cameron back out of the room. ‘You can't just barge in here, who the hell do you think you are?’

‘It's fine, Danny,’ Nick told Danny, sitting up in his bed, hair mussed.

‘Fucker hit me,’ Danny said, rubbing his jaw.

‘I said it's fine,’ said Nick, his voice a little more terse than he intended.

‘All right.’ Danny turned his attention to Cameron, setting his shoulders squarely. ‘There are four burly Scots in the house next door who wouldn't hesitate to kick the shit out of you,’ he warned darkly. ‘So if I hear even one sign that-’

‘You won't,’ said Cameron, fixing Danny with a hard look.

‘As long as we're clear.’

Danny turned away, pulling the door closed as he left. Cameron turned to Nick, an apologetic half smile on his face, and then dropped the bag he was carrying next to the bed.

‘You're a hard man to find,’ he told Nick. ‘It took me days to track you down.’

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Nick.

‘Came to thank you, actually.’ Cameron pulled a chair away from the wall and slid it across the floor until it was next to the bed, and then sat down. He kicked the bag with his foot. ‘And give you this.’

‘I can't think what I've one to deserve it, whatever it is.’

‘Depends on what you know, I suppose,’ commented Cameron. ‘You've done me a pretty big favour in the grand scheme of things. It's certainly worth a bit of money.’

‘Money?’ echoed Nick, feeling lost.

‘More than you were supposed to get out of me,’ smiled Cameron.

Nick stared at Cameron, thinking the man must have lost his mind. George had obviously told Cameron about the con, but Nick could think of no reason why Cameron would smile so genuinely at him while speaking about money. He blinked rapidly.

Was he dreaming?

‘David, I don't understand,’ Nick said when he realised he was gaping at Cameron as though Cameron had suddenly grown a second head.

‘I owed Peter a favour. Now I don't.’ Cameron smiled again and picked up the bag, holding it out until Nick took it. ‘If not for you, I imagine the bastard would have held it over my head for another twenty years.’

Still lost, Nick sat with the bag in his lap, frowning and trying to make sense of things. Cameron knew Peter? Owed Peter a debt which Nick had apparently helped to erase. How?

‘You've still not figured it out, have you?’ asked Cameron after a few minutes of silence. When Nick shook his head, Cameron looked at him pityingly, shaking his head and saying, ‘I was never the mark, Nick. You were.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes you,’ said Cameron. ‘You really don't pick your enemies well. Everyone knows you don't fuck with Peter. You especially don't fuck up Peter's jobs and expect to get away scot-free.’

‘I didn't fuck up-’

‘Bit of a moot point now, don't you think?’ snorted Cameron. ‘I imagine you've already heard that no more jobs will be passed your way, so unless you want to freelance, you're out.’

‘How do you know so much about this?’ Nick asked through gritted teeth. Cameron laughed, stood up and walked across the room, then turned to Nick with a smug, self-satisfied grin.

‘Have you ever heard of Carmichael?’ asked Cameron.

‘He's supposedly a con artist who fell for a mark and ended up in prison.’

‘Supposedly?’ said Cameron, his smile growing a little wider. ‘Well, yes, that would be right since the story isn't true, not most of it. Carmichael was real, as real as is possible for a con anyway, but he never went to prison.’

‘What happened to him, then?’

‘I got out of the game,’ Cameron stated evenly.

‘You're Carmichael?’ gasped Nick, his stomach churning.

‘I was,’ admitted Cameron quietly. ‘A long time ago.’

‘But you're-’

‘I'm what?’ interrupted Cameron, looking at Nick with an unpleasant, cold expression. ‘A good guy? _Lovely_?’ Cameron smirked at the last, plonking back down on the chair. ‘It's good to know I haven't lost my touch.’

Nick could feel his hands starting to shake, felt betrayed, and upset that Cameron did not seem to care at all for-

‘You shouldn't be telling me this,’ said Nick, attempting to get a measure of control over himself. ‘Peter will-’

‘Who's going to tell him? You?’ laughed Cameron. ‘Besides, I did the job I was paid to do, what I do with the money is my business. You more than deserve half of it. It's worth it for never having to deal with Peter again.’

‘Half?’

‘A hundred thousand. Sets you up nicely, don't you think?’ Cameron's expression softened somewhat as he went on. ‘George wanted me to tell you that he's sorry for, well you know. He's not normally such a tosser, but I was getting pretty damn desperate to get rid of you and none of the usual tricks were working.’

It made sense all of a sudden, why Cameron was so quick to jump into a relationship, so eager for Nick to move in with him. If Nick were trying to spook a romantic con he would probably have tried the same tactic. They had been in it together all along, all three of them, and he had been so preoccupied with his feelings for Cameron that he lost sight of everything else.

Still, the _desperate to get rid of you_ comment stung. Fuck, but Cameron – Carmichael – was good. He had his part down pat, had stitched Nick up good and proper.

Hadn't he?

Surely it could not have all been just running the con. Surely Cameron had felt something for him, no one was that good.

‘It was-’ Nick bit his lip and closed his eyes. He did not want to ask the question; from the way Cameron was sitting, the way he was looking at Nick so differently from when they had last seen each other, Nick knew the answer, but the words spilled out anyway. ‘It was all an act, then?’

‘Of course it was,’ said Cameron, smiling thinly. ‘They don't call me a legend for nothing.’

‘They certainly don't,’ Nick agreed morosely, a chill creeping up his spine and along his arms. His lip trembled for a fraction of a second and his eyes stung; it was only the thought that Cameron would not care that kept him from crying. He had been played, well and truly fooled by Cameron's shy singleton act.

‘No hard feelings, eh?’ Cameron said briskly, getting to his feet. ‘You were pretty good, too.’

 _Not good enough_ , Nick thought sadly. He sat in silence as Cameron patted him on the shoulder, nodding numbly with eyes still closed.

‘I should be off. Would you tell your fixer friend I'm sorry for barging in?’

‘Sure,’ Nick told him quietly. Cameron left the room, closing the door behind himself, and Nick stared at the bag of money Cameron had given him. One hundred grand. Half of what Cameron had been given to ruin him. Enough to build the foundation of a new life, since Peter would make certain he would never work the con business again.

And all he could think about was Cameron. Shy Cameron who he had fallen in love with. Shy Cameron who did not even exist.

He was crying, hands shaking in front of his face, by the time Danny came into the room.

‘Nick, everything all right mate? Wasn't that your mark?’

‘Carmichael,’ Nick said softly. ‘That was Carmichael.’

‘Carmichael's a myth,’ said Danny.

‘No,’ Nick told him, smiling bitterly through his tears. ‘Carmichael's a legend.’

 

[Click'n'Fix]: Nick, I've been trying to get hold of you for days. I have news.  
[YellowBird]: Been busy. I work for a living now.  
[YellowBird]: I don't get news any more, Danny. I'm out, remember?  
[Click'n'Fix]: Trust me, you want this news. It's about Carmichael.  
[YellowBird]: Did he fall under a bus?  
[YellowBird]: Sorry, a tractor, I meant a tractor.  
[Click'n'Fix]: Shit, you're bitter when someone breaks your heart.  
[YellowBird]: He didn't break my heart.  
[Click'n'Fix]: I saw your face when he came to my house, mate. That was a broken heart.  
[YellowBird]: I'm busy, Danny.  
[Click'n'Fix]: All right, he didn't break your heart.  
[Click'n'Fix]: You broke his, though.  
[YellowBird]: I what?  
[Click'n'Fix]: Something about the way he left you that money bugged the hell out of me, so I did some checking.  
[YellowBird]: Checking?  
[Click'n'Fix]: Yeah, checking. What I do best, remember?  
[Click'n'Fix]: Peter paid Carmichael to work you over.  
[YellowBird]: I know that.  
[Click'n'Fix]: He paid Carmichael one hundred grand.  
[YellowBird]: You mean two hundred.  
[Click'n'Fix]: No, I mean one hundred. O N E.  
[YellowBird]: Do you have a point or are you just trying to annoy me?  
[Click'n'Fix]: Nick, there's only one reason why a con would give his mark ALL the money from a job.  
[Click'n'Fix]: Well, two actually, but one of them involves a longer con.  
[Click'n'Fix]: It happens when they fall for the mark.  
[YellowBird]: If he fell for me why didn't he say anything when he brought the money?  
[Click'n'Fix]: Did you tell him you'd fallen for him?  
[YellowBird]: No, of course I didn't.  
[Click'n'Fix]: Why?  
[YellowBird]: I was his mark, he was acting.  
[Click'n'Fix]: Don't you think he might have thought the same?  
[YellowBird]: It really doesn't matter, Danny.  
[YellowBird]: I'm not disrupting my life, my for once very stable life, to run off to London and ask a man I tried to con: by the way, did you happen to fall in love with me?  
[Click'n'Fix]: You don't have to run off to London.  
[Click'n'Fix]: He's in Sheffield.  
[YellowBird]: What?  
[Click'n'Fix]: For some work conference. He looks like shit, mate. I'd be surprised if he's slept at all since you left.  
[YellowBird]: How do you know what he looks like?  
[Click'n'Fix]: I can see him on the security camera.  
[YellowBird]: You're spying on him?  
[Click'n'Fix]: You call it spying, I call it confirming my theory.  
[YellowBird]: You – Do you know how many rules you're breaking right now?  
[Click'n'Fix]: Four, five if you count helping someone who's out.  
[Click'n'Fix]: So you want to know what hotel he's staying at?  
[YellowBird]: No I don't.  
[YellowBird]: Danny, I can't.  
[YellowBird]: He broke my heart.  
[YellowBird]: There, I admit it, are you happy?  
_YellowBird has quit the conversation [signed out]_

Signing out of his chat with Danny, Nick powered down his computer and walked across the tiny, cramped bedsit to the small fridge that sat under the equally small dining table. He looked inside and realised he had nothing to eat; he was not hungry anyway, he just wanted something to do, something to take his mind off of what Danny had said about Cameron.

Nick looked toward the corner, where the bag of money Cameron had given him sat under a pile of books. All of what Cameron had been paid to ruin him, if Danny was right – and Danny usually was. Nick had not touched a penny of it, did not want it, did not want anything from Cameron, not one damn thing.

Except his heart back.

For three weeks now, Nick had been living in Sheffield. He had rented one of the rooms above a small pub, cheap enough for him to afford to pay a few months in advance, and completely off the books in case Peter decided to twist the knife he had paid Cameron to bury so vindictively in Nick's back, though there was no reason for Peter to do that.

Nick was out and did not want to get back in, had no enthusiasm for conning people any more; had no enthusiasm for much, if the truth were known. But he had been looking forward to speaking with Danny over instant messenger and would probably have spent a couple of hours online if not for the topic of conversation. Danny was his only real friend these days, nobody else would speak to him once word got around, his entire social circle, such as it was, had disappeared. There were probably one or two others who would ignore the rumours of his disgrace – they would talk to him once the heat died down – but for now his life consisted of this dingy room, working days in a second hand book shop on the high street, four nights a week teaching Spanish at a local adult education centre, and watching television of an evening while he tried to pretend the crushing normality was not slowly sucking the life from him.

Slumping down in a faded armchair, Nick reached over the side and picked up the box containing the cufflinks Cameron had given him on Valentine's Day, staring at them with a resigned emptiness. He should have sold them with everything else, all his fancy watches and wallets, jewellery and clothes, all the things for a life he no longer had, props for parts he no longer had to play. He should have added them to the pile of things he took to the pawn shop but he was not ready for that, he did not want to lose the only thing he had that reminded him of his Cameron – the Cameron he had fallen for, had held in his arms and been happy with. His Cameron, not cold Cameron Carmichael who had dropped a bag of money at his feet and left him to his misery.

There was a cruel kind of poetic justice to it.

Nick had spent years doing the very thing Cameron had done to him; wooing people, winning their hearts and then leaving. Fate had caught up in the end and now he knew exactly how it felt. It felt like slowly withering away.

Two days after he arrived in Sheffield he had sat in the beer garden late at night, drinking himself numb as he burned all the cards and documents of his other personae, watching as they disappeared in a cloud of smoke and ash. Now he was Nick Clegg. Who worked in a book shop and spent his evenings pining over a lost love who had never been real in the first place.

He could have lived with the former if not for the latter.

Nick left the box open on the chair and went to the narrow window next to the television, yanking the wooden frame roughly to open it. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the windowsill and climbed out onto the flat roof of the function room, sitting down and leaning back against the brickwork as he pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit up. He stared at the sky as he took a deep drag and exhaled, turning his head as he heard a knock on his door.

‘Nick?’

‘I'm on the roof, Cath,’ shouted Nick. A minute or so later his landlady appeared, stepping onto the roof through the open door of the pub kitchen opposite. Cath was Irish, in her fifties and quite plump. She had a bit of a soft spot for Nick, kept bringing him dinners and commenting that he would waste away if he kept in his room and did not eat. Nick often caught her smiling at him like he was a young boy, and she seemed to understand why Nick stayed in his room and rarely spoke to anyone.

‘There's a fella downstairs says he knows you,’ Cath told him, smiling.

‘What's he look like?’ asked Nick, out of habit more than anything.

‘About your age, same height, dark hair. Looks sort of stuck up.’

Cameron. What was he doing here?

‘Do you want me to let him up?’ asked Cath.

‘I-’ Nick stopped, taking another drag of his cigarette, biting the tip of his finger and tasting the sharp tang of nicotine. Even if Cameron had given Nick all of the money he had been paid, even if he had feelings for Nick, did it matter? Nick did not have feelings for Cameron, not the Cameron who was downstairs in the bar – Nick had fallen for the act, for the shy man named David, who cooked roast dinners and called things lovely; Cameron Carmichael was cold, blunt, uncaring, and not who Nick wanted.

‘I don't want to see him,’ Nick told Cath quietly.

‘Him then, is it?’ Cath said knowingly. Nick nodded, and Cath started back into the pub.

‘Cath, wait,’ Nick called after her. He hopped up and leaned in through the window of his room, stretching out his arm until he caught hold of the bag of money in the corner, then on impulse he leaned over to the chair and grabbed the box with the cufflinks in. Dragging the bag out of the window, he opened it, snapping the box shut as he put it inside. ‘Give him this.’

Nick finished his cigarette after Cath had hobbled away with the bag, stubbing it out in the waterlogged ashtray by the edge of the roof. A few minutes later Cath reappeared, walking over to Nick and handing him a small velvet covered box.

‘He asked me to give you this,’ she said. ‘Were you two engaged?’

‘No,’ Nick said flatly, putting the box down at his side.

‘Shame when things don't work out, eh?’ Cath said sympathetically. ‘You coming downstairs after closing?’

‘Might do, might just go to bed.’

‘Well if you want something to eat then you let me know, Ali made steak and kidney pie.’

‘Thanks, Cath.’

‘I'd better get back, Jack is watching the bar and he can't pour Guinness to save his life.’

Picking up the box Cath had given him, Nick turned it over in his hands. He knew what was inside. It was the ring he had given Cameron on Valentine's Day. Somehow, even though he had bought it with an ulterior motive, having Cameron give it back to him hurt.

 _Visit the pawn shop tomorrow, get rid of it_ , thought Nick. He could use the money, could put it in the bank with what he had got from selling his things. Living frugally in the bedsit was only temporary, Nick was saving to go abroad; Spain probably, somewhere else, where he could make a proper life and forget the last three months.

Unlike the box he had given to Cameron, this one was pristine, as though it had not been touched at all the entire time Cameron had it. Nick huffed with dry amusement. Of course not; Cameron had not been sitting staring at the ring and wishing the person who had given it to him was there, was real. Cameron did not know Nick had not been acting when he had kissed him, touched him, told him-

Nick flipped the lid back to look at the ring, but instead of a ring the box contained a strip of paper, folded and tucked into the hole where a ring would normally go. He blinked at it in surprise, pulling it free with the tips of his fingers and unfolding it to read what it said.

_Did I tell you Carmichael never fell for a mark?_

‘What?’ Nick squeaked in upset.

This was just great. How perfect, how utterly, brilliantly _perfect_. The smug bastard could not resist one last jibe about how great his alter ego was, while Nick had lost everything _and_ fallen for the mark at the same time. And Cameron knew.

The cold, unbelievably cruel-

‘Fuck you,’ Nick hissed through his teeth, scrunching the note in his hand and flinging the box angrily across the roof so it ricocheted off the wall and bounced away. His anger turning instantly to pain, Nick buried his head in his hands, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees.

He heard footsteps coming from the kitchen, approaching him across the roof, and did not care. It was probably Cath or Ali coming for a smoke, they would leave him be, or sit and stroke his back silently until he calmed down.

Cath had done that before, the night he had burned all of his other names and stumbled upstairs with the crazy idea of burning the money, because maybe it would make him feel better than staring at it day after day, knowing where it came from and how much it had cost him. In his drunken state he had fallen out of the window when he tried to go outside for a cigarette, and lay on the roof with his head spinning, crying in misery and heartache. Cath had been sat at the patio table; she had walked over and comforted him in her soft, lilting voice, patting his back and telling him drink would not make it better.

A hand touched softly at Nick's hair, stroking gently and turning his thoughts back to the present, and Nick felt another hand on his shoulder, pulling him forward until he was pressed against a fine-suited chest.

‘I don't want the money,’ David's voice said quietly. ‘I want you.’

‘How did you find me?’ asked Nick, tensing as Cameron's arm slipped across his shoulder.

‘Your fixer friend is surprisingly persistent,’ Cameron told him.

‘Danny?’

‘If that's his name,’ said Cameron. ‘He called me, had some rather choice names for me I must say, sent me a file where you told him I'd broken your heart, and then told me where you were staying.’

‘I'm going to kill him when I see him,’ commented Nick. He did not move, did not look at Cameron, could not look at him and say what he knew he had to. ‘You should go.’

‘No,’ replied Cameron. Nick sighed, shook off Cameron's arms and stood up.

‘Why are you even here?’ he asked Cameron.

‘I came to, to tell you-’ Cameron got up and stepped toward Nick. He put his hand on Nick's shoulder, and Nick allowed himself to be pulled into a hug, but did not return it, instead resting his forehead on Cameron's chest. ‘I didn't know, I thought you were- That is we were both playing a part, weren't we.’

‘I wasn't pretending,’ mumbled Nick. ‘I fell in love with-’

‘So did I,’ said Cameron. ‘We can talk about it, can't we? If we both want the same thing.’

‘But I don't want you, Carmichael,’ sighed Nick. He shook his head, feeling sad, and put his arms around Cameron, moving so they were close together, then tried to explain. ‘I want David, my David, who- who- who is lovely. You're not him, you made him up. He's not even real.’

‘Of _course he's real_!’ came Cameron's whispered response. ‘Why do you think- I'm not quite that shy, I admit, but everything else, I wasn't pretending, Nick.’

Nick looked up, searching Cameron's face – the worried, hopeful frown, the way his mouth was tight with sadness, the blue eyes brimming with tears – and found he was not looking at Carmichael, nor Cameron, but David, sweet, _lovely_ David, his David. He pulled David to him again, hugged him tight, pressing their cheeks together and sighing deeply.

‘You said you wanted rid of me,’ he said in David's ear as David wrapped his arms around Nick's waist.

‘I had to, I had to get you to leave. It was killing me that every time I touched you I knew you were only letting me because I was the mark. You never really wanted me.’

‘I always wanted you,’ whispered Nick. ‘I was so close to telling you everything and begging you to forgive me.’

‘We're a right pair, aren't we?’ David laughed softly, kissing Nick just in front of his ear.

Nick laughed too, nodding and smiling widely as he thought of the situation. Both of them stuck in similar quandaries and both feeling the same about each other. They stood for a while, shaking with amusement as they held each other, until Nick looked toward the kitchen and saw Cath's smiling face as she poked her head around the frame. She nodded at him and disappeared, and Nick stepped away from David.

‘How did you get upstairs?’ asked Nick, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

‘You'd be surprised what protective older ladies will agree to when you give them a hundred thousand pounds,’ David laughed quietly.

‘You gave my landlady a hundred grand just to see me?’

‘I would have paid twice that,’ David said plainly.

‘I think you were ripped off. I'm not worth that much,’ Nick chuckled. David smiled, lifting his hand to touch Nick's face.

‘You'd be a bargain at any price,’ he said as he pulled Nick close and kissed him.


End file.
